


lacuna

by astarisms



Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 09:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astarisms/pseuds/astarisms
Summary: (n.) a blank space, a missing part. origin: latinfor better, for worse. in sickness, in health. she had taken those vows, even if he didn’t remember it, and she would not break them.





	lacuna

**saudade**

(n.) a nostalgic longing to be near 

again to something or someone that 

is distant, or that has been loved and 

then lost; “the love that remains”

origin: portuguese

The steady tone of the heart monitor was what had eventually coaxed her to sleep every night for three days. It was the comfort, the constant reassurance that he was here and he was alive and that the fear that had nearly brought her to her knees when she’d gotten the call was unfounded. 

It was only fitting that it would be the heart monitor that woke her as well — but there was something wrong. Before opening her eyes, she just listened for it, the confirmation of his life, but the timing was off. It was faster than the tone that had been ingrained in her mind, consumed every sleeping and waking moment.

She shot up, immediately alert and prepared for the worst, her eyes darting to the hospital bed that took up the middle of the room where he’d been, unmoving, since he’d come out of surgery. Except now there was a twitch to his fingers, a turn to his head, a murmur on his lips. 

She realized then that the change in the heart monitor wasn’t a bad thing, but a good one. Her eyes burned but she pushed back the urge to cry, making her way out of the room as quickly as she could without tripping over all the machines and yelling for a nurse, her voice breaking tearfully. 

Within moments the small room was filled, nurses rushing in and talking to each other in terms Natalie couldn’t understand. His doctor was next, side by side with another nurse mumbling something about paging the surgeon. 

Unable to breathe with so many people in such a small space, and unable to see him anyways with the crowd that had gathered around him, Natalie stepped out into the hall and leaned against the wall beside the door. 

She sighed shakily, looking down at her hands without really seeing them, her vision blurring. She twisted her wedding band around her finger anxiously, trying to ease the thundering of her heart and the racing of her thoughts. 

Was he okay? How did he feel? Was it too soon? Could they go home and finally put this nightmare behind them?

The questions were endless, circling round and round, taunting her as much as the noise in the room behind her was, reminding her that they were there to see him wake up and she was out in the hall. 

Hearing a low groan beneath several overpowering voices, Natalie squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, taking several deep breaths to keep the relieved tears at bay. 

Flashes of that night, curled on the couch to wait up for him, watching some cheesy TV movie, cold pizza waiting for him on the counter. Her phone ringing and absentmindedly reaching over to answer it without glancing at the caller ID. Ipos’s voice, usually so chill and smiling, solemn in her ear, straining like it would break. Horror settling in her bones like ice, immobilizing her. Ipos’s voice vague and distant in her ear, something about having sent Zoe to pick her up and take her to the hospital already. 

It had undoubtedly been the worst night of her entire life. They had already taken him in for emergency surgery when Zoe had dropped her off, and the wait had been agonizing. Hours without any updates. Hours of replaying every moment with him. Hours of being stricken with the thought that their goodbyes that morning had been goodbye in the most literal sense. 

The relief when they’d told her he was stable was palpable, but there was a catch — he was unconscious, and they had little to no idea when he would wake up.

Three days had felt like an eternity, but now she was grateful that that was all the time it had taken for him to regain his consciousness. She couldn’t imagine if she had had to wait much longer — three days had made her restless enough.

She lowered her hands from her eyes, turning to peer inside the room when she heard his voice, rough with pain and misuse. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, and she could only catch glimpses of him from where she stood, but it was enough. It was a confirmation she couldn’t get from heart monitors, or the gentle rise and fall of his chest. 

He was awake. He was okay. They would go home soon and he would recover the rest of the way there and everything would go back to normal.

She stared down at the floor, trying to catch bits of the conversation, but the doctor’s voice was too low. She didn’t know what the verdict was yet, she didn’t know how close he was to recovering, but he was awake, and that had to be good news.

After all, waking up had been the last obstacle they’d had to face. His recovery, slow as it may be, they would conquer together at home.

After several minutes, people started to file out of the room one by one. Natalie moved to the side as much as she could while still peering into the room, more and more of him revealed to her as the room cleared.

The doctor remained by his bedside even as the last nurse finished adjusting his IV and left. Natalie, feeling lighter than she had in days and with a bounce in her step, walked back into the room and to the doctor’s side. 

He looked from the doctor to her, all sharp lines and tired brown eyes, and she couldn’t help her watery laugh.

“You scared the crap out of me, dude,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to take his hand.

“Uh, Mrs. Dev-”

“Who the hell are you-” 

“Mr. Devante, please, a moment-”

“Did you just say _missus_?”

Natalie was a bit stunned by the swiftness of everything — Lucifer pulling his hand away from her as if he’d been burned, sending her a suspicious look. The overlapping voices, their exact words taking a second for her to process. She could only stare with wide eyes, unsure what was happening.

“I — _What_?”

“Mrs. Devante, I had meant to speak with you before you came in, because I felt this might be the case as soon as we spoke.”

Her chest constricted with the implications of his solemn tone. 

“W… _What_ might be the case?” she asked, hesitantly, afraid of the question itself just as much as the answer.

“I’m afraid I think your hus— Mr. Devante has a case of amnesia.” He looked between the two of them, to ensure Lucifer didn’t feel like he was being talked about instead of talked to. 

He kept talking, something about how it was not a surprising turn of events after brain surgery, something about not being able to tell if or when his memories would return, something about _hope_ and _therapy_ but Natalie heard none of it, her world closing in on her.

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. Her vision swam and her ears rang and she barely heard her own voice cut off the doctor.

“He doesn’t…” She turned to look at her husband of 5 years. Her best friend of even longer. _So many years_… “You don’t remember me?” 

He shook his head.

… _gone_. 

It felt like a slap in the face.

“…Are you sure?” It was a stupid question, she knew it even as it slipped past her trembling lips, she knew it even without the look on his face that told her _he_ thought it was a stupid question. And though it was silly, though it was a little breathless and desperate, in that moment it was all she had. 

“I’m sure.”

“…Oh.”

“Mrs. Devante-”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Lucifer snapped, glowering between the two of them. The doctor looked alarmed for a second, before looking to Natalie inquiringly. 

“I…I’m your wife. Natalie. Your wi-”

“Bullshit.” Natalie flinched, and floundered, unable to think of a reply in the wake of his harsh tone. He looked to the doctor. “Could you stop calling her that?”

“Um-” The greying man glanced at Natalie again, cautiously.

“…My, uh… Natalie is fine,” she said softly, eyes dropping from Lucifer’s irritated expression to the stark white sheets. 

“Ah, well, yes. Perhaps it’s better if we let Mr. Devante get his rest? After all, proper rest is key to a speedy recovery.”

“Haven’t I been resting enough?” Lucifer scoffed, but settled back into the pillows anyways.

“A coma is not the same as resting. We’ll get you some food soon, to see what you’re able to keep down as well.”

Lucifer grunted, but otherwise didn’t reply. 

The doctor touched Natalie’s arm, and she scrambled off the bed. 

“Right. Um, I hope you uh, rest… well,” she said, stumbling over her words and avoiding his eyes, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice but doing her best to mask the hurt regardless.

She turned and ducked out of the room as quickly as she could, the doctor on her heels. He shut the door softly behind them and turned to look at her. 

“Is — is it permanent?” she asked, quietly even though Lucifer was well out of earshot now. She looked up at him with big, hopeful green eyes, and he really wished he could give her a different answer. 

“There’s no way of telling,” he said slowly. “It could be permanent,” Natalie took a shuddering breath, and he hurried to continue, “but there’s also a chance he could regain them, quickly or over time. It’s a matter of circumstance. Every situation is different.”

She nodded slowly, glancing at the door and wrapping her arms around herself. He had been in this field for too long, and was good at recognizing the signs of her resolving herself now to face what laid ahead.

“Yeah. Okay.” 

“I’m sorry there’s nothing more we can do,” he added sincerely. Natalie gave him a bright smile, but he’d seen a lot of those too — it broke his heart to note that hers was one of the most authentic, if a little strained, like she hadn’t had to use her perfected grin in some time.

“You’ve done so much already. Thank you. Him being okay is the most important thing.” 

He nodded, his years of experience betraying him when he was unable to find a way to comfort her. 

“My pleasure, Mrs. Dev—”

“Please,” she said, a shaky exhale. “Just — could you call me Natalie?” 

“Of course.” Her smile this time looked a little more genuine. “I’ll leave you to it, Natalie.”

She nodded, and he left her alone in the hallway. She sighed and pursed her lips, trying to decide what she should do next.

Calling Ipos was the first thing that came to mind — he and Sheila would be happy to hear that Lucifer was awake. She reached down to grab her phone before she remembered it was in his room, charging beside the cot she’d made a home out of during her stay since she’d refused to leave his side since she’d arrived. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, glancing to the door and debating whether or not it was worth it, before deciding she was being silly. She braced herself, and cracked the door open, peering inside. 

He _looked_ like he was asleep. 

Creeping inside, she tried to be as quiet as possible. She made it halfway across the room before he grunted, and she froze, turning slowly to look at him. He was staring at her with none of the warmth of the brown eyes she had fallen in love with a hundred times over, brows drawn.

“I — s-sorry, I was just grabbing my…” she trailed off, gesturing instead. He rolled his head to look at the small pile of her stuff, his gaze narrowing. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He sighed, and closed his eyes again.

“Just get it.” 

She made herself quick about grabbing it, and turned to walk out, but thought twice and spun back around to grab her jacket off the top of her bag. She tugged it on as she manuevered carefully around the small room and all its machines and wires, and she tried very hard to keep her nose in the screen and not glance back at him, but her body betrayed her.

She chanced a look at him, and seeing him lying there peacefully, she was overcome with emotion. It didn’t matter that he no longer had his lush, dark hair. It didn’t matter that a scar stretched across his scalp. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the same man she married. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember her.

She was overwhelmed with emotion, with the relief that he was alive, that he was breathing, that his eyes were closed of his own will and not the result of his head injury and the surgery that followed to save his life. 

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her, and she threw caution to the wind as she rushed the last few steps from the room. She shut the door as softly as she could with trembling fingers, not noticing that he was staring at her.

Once out in the hallway, she was at a loss — bathroom, she needed the bathroom, but she had been using the one in his room and she didn’t know where the public one was. Her vision blurred and her head swam and she stumbled down a random hallway in search for it.

After she’d turned down the third hallway with no results, she leaned against the wall, breath shuddering. She slid down until she touched the floor, buried her face in her pulled-up knees, and let the dam break.

She sobbed, everything she’d been repressing for the past three days bursting forth. She felt everything she hadn’t let herself all at once — the frantic worry, the crippling fear, the indescribable pain, and most prominently the overpowering relief. She felt it all pulse through her with so much force it hurt. 

She hadn’t been able to think as optimistically as she’d pretended. Several _what if_’s taunted her every waking moment and visions of life without him made her dreams bleed with terror and grief. 

The vision of him, pale and breathing shallowly, blood matting his hair to the back of his head and curling down the sides of his face and staining the pillow crimson and his body limp and broken and vulnerable in a way she had never seen him — was one created entirely of her own imagination. She hadn’t actually seen him after that accident, he’d already been taken back for surgery by the time she’d reached the hospital, but the image her own mind conjured had haunted her every moment since.

But none of that mattered anymore. None of it. Because he was _okay_, she couldn’t reassure herself enough that he was _fine_, that besides a few lost memories the doctor had said he would likely make a full recovery. And that — that was enough for her. It had to be.

As her sobs died down, she heaved on the floor of the deserted hallway, shaking and exhausted. She was no stranger to bottling her emotions, but it had been a long time since she’d had to keep some that roiled so violently within her under lock and key.

She jumped when she heard the rustling of someone sitting beside her, and looked up into a pair of warm, familiar eyes. Ipos didn’t say anything, he just offered his silent presence. Feeling better with the company, she sniffled and wiped her face on the sleeve of her jacket. 

They were silent for a minute, the only sounds in the barren hallway Natalie’s shuddered breathing and sniffles as she attempted to compose herself again.

“H-How did you find me?” she finally asked. Ipos shrugged, leaning back against the wall. 

“A few nurses pointed me in the right direction.”

“I — Is Sheila…?”

“She’s in his room. Told her I’d bring you by as soon as I found you.”

“Liar.” Ipos glanced over at her, a smirk turning up his lips. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Natalie giggled, sitting up straighter, “We should go back, before I make a dishonest man out of you.”

Ipos laughed quietly, but it faded out when Natalie stood up.

“You sure?” 

He wasn’t a man of many words, but Natalie knew what he meant — was she ready? To face him again? To endure his lost memory? To handle the loss of his love?

“Yeah,” Natalie said, sobering up. 

Ipos only nodded, and stood to walk her back.

*

Natalie would be lying if she claimed the last few days hadn’t taken their toll on her. She was exhausted and trying to stay optimistic just wore her down more.

Attempting to keep smiling when he would barely so much as look at her, trying to laugh when he recounted old stories with Sheila and Ipos that she’d heard a million times over, keeping the tears at bay every waking moment — she was just about ready to collapse. 

Ever since he’d woken up, she’d spent her nights at home. He didn’t like the idea of her being there when he didn’t know her. She understood, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t felt like a slap in the face.

That didn’t mean trying to sleep in their bed alone didn’t feel cold and empty.

She’d taken to sleeping on the couch instead, and she busied herself during the day trying to prepare for his homecoming. Keeping herself distracted from her own thoughts had become a struggle, so she put all her leftover energy into cleaning, blasting music and singing along just as loudly to drown out the negativity that tried to pull her under.

But he was coming home today, and she would be optimistic if it killed her. He was going through enough, and she was going to make his transition back into his life as easy as possible.

She made sure everything was where it belonged and dabbed concealer over the dark circles beneath her eyes before she set off to the hospital to pick him up, equal parts excited and nervous. She was hoping a familiar environment would trigger some of his old memories, but she was also trying not to get her hopes up.

The doctor had warned her there was a chance he would never regain them, anyways. So Natalie was resolutely devoted to keeping this whole ordeal about him — he was the one who was injured, he was the one whose life had been thrown completely off-kilter, he was the one who needed the help.

Her own problems could wait, because him recovering was the big picture and she wouldn’t lose sight of that. She would nudge him in the right direction, but she wouldn’t pressure him to remember. Not when he had bigger things to worry about.

Her stout optimism was tested the moment she stopped outside his door, though. She heard him, inside, arguing.

“Why can’t I crash at your place?” A beat of silence accompanied by the sinking of Natalie’s heart. Of course, she should have known he wouldn’t want to come home with her — after all, to him, she was a complete stranger.

“C’mon, Ipos, this— no, listen, I’ll sleep on that shit-stained couch, I — wait, _what_? You moved? You big fuck, when did that happen?”

She figured she’d been eavesdropping long enough, and knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open and poking her head inside.

“Hey,” she said, gently, not wanting to risk his temper. He tensed, and Natalie tried not to let her smile waver. “I brought you a change of clothes, for whenever you’re ready…” 

“Yeah, okay,” he said gruffly, and jerked his chin towards the end of the bed. “You can just set them there.” She walked over, setting the bag where he’d indicated and soothing it out.

“Just… whenever you’re ready,” she repeated, sincerely, trying to catch his eyes. He refused to look at her, however. She bit back her disheartened sigh, and stepped back. “Just let me know, okay? I’ll be outside.”

He nodded once, and she clasped her hands in front of her tightly to keep them from shaking as she retreated once more, with the sinking feeling that retreating from him — her best friend, her confidant — was going to be the norm very soon. 

She stopped once the door closed behind her again and after a moment of hesitation, she pressed her ear against it as he resumed his conversation with Ipos.

“I don’t know…” she heard him say, and there was an uncertainty in his voice that she hadn’t expected given the demanding and abrasive tone he’d had before she interrupted. “I don’t _know_ her.”

Her breath shook as she exhaled, and she turned her face to the ceiling to blink back the tears. There was a long silence on his end, and she almost turned away when he spoke again, a bit of the edge from before back.

“I don’t know if I can remember her. I don’t know if I can love her.”

Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the pained gasp she wasn’t sure he could hear anyways but didn’t want to risk, and she spun around and fled before he could catch her, before she could hear anything else she didn’t want to.

That was her karma for eavesdropping, she supposed, as she felt her already fragile heart shatter into pieces.

This time, her search for the bathroom didn’t result in an abandoned hallway, but instead found her bowed over the sink, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes, her head throbbing as she resisted the overwhelming desire to cry.

She needed to get it together. She couldn’t react like this every time he said something that stung — it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t being malicious, but that he was understandably very confused and disoriented and that she would be put off, too, if she woke up with no memory of a person claiming to be married to her.

She took several steadying breaths to compose herself, then slowly peeled her hands from her face. Her eyes were a little red, so she grabbed a paper towel and dampened it with cool water. She dabbed it gently beneath her eyes in hopes of making the swelling go down a little.

Once she decided she was presentable enough to brave the waiting room again, she slipped from the bathroom and traveled the short distance to the lobby where she could wait on him to get changed and sign the release forms. 

He, thankfully, didn’t keep her waiting as long as she had expected him to. He emerged from his room within half an hour, and though he didn’t seem thrilled at the idea of coming home with her, he didn’t say anything against it, either as he signed his discharge forms, dropping his bag by his feet.

His doctor was giving him some final instructions about bed rest and not over-exerting himself — “that means you’re gonna be out of commission for awhile, Lucifer, and I’ve already talked to your chief about how long you need to stay out,” he’d said, to which Lucifer scowled but nodded.

Natalie was lingering, not close enough to make Lucifer anymore uncomfortable but enough to overhear. The graying man caught her eyes a few times and she nodded subtly in response, because they both knew Lucifer was too reckless and restless to follow the strict orders unless he was watched.

“We’ll have your follow up in about a month, alright? It should be pretty routine, but if you notice anything unusual please come in immediately regardless.” Lucifer nodded absently, it was clear he wasn’t listening anymore, itching to not be cooped up anymore.

Natalie’s apologetic smile was tired and strained but she waited silently while the doctor looked over the forms Lucifer handed him back to confirm his release.

“Looks like you’re good to go,” he said, glancing at the last page. “Though I’d prefer if you used a wheelchair. You just had surgery.” He sighed at the look he was given, and conceded. “Just remember all I told you, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” The doctor shared a look with Natalie and she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. Even without the amnesia, Lucifer had always been impartial to hospitals, especially for long periods of time.

“All packed up?” she asked after the older man wished them a safe trip home and took his leave, a hesitant tease since all he really had was the clothes on his back and a few of his favorite books she’d brought for him. 

He hummed in acknowledgment and scooped up his bag. Natalie pursed her lips, but didn’t push his lack of a reply. Instead, she folded her arms over her stomach and followed him as he made his way to the elevator. 

The ride down was silent. Natalie had several things she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to bring them up and she wasn’t prepared for more of his rejection just yet. So she kept quiet and when the elevators opened on the ground floor he strolled out ahead of her, then stopped.

His brows were furrowed, clearly frustrated as he looked down at her. She didn’t know what she could’ve possibly done wrong this time, all she’d done was walk beside him, until —

“Well?”

“Well… what?”

“Where’s the car?” he asked, an exasperated edge to his voice. 

“O-Oh, right, I’ll go pull it around—”

“That’s not necessary. That’ll just take more time.”

“You shouldn’t walk too far, though, the doctor said—”

“I had surgery, I’m not crippled. I can walk to the fucking car,” he snapped, and Natalie flinched. He looked away from her, and his tensed shoulders slumped a little in what she recognized as regret for losing his temper, but he didn’t offer an apology. 

“…Right,” she said after a beat, and hated how her voice wavered. “Sorry, I’ll — it’s this way.”

She took the lead and was glad for it, because if he was behind her he couldn’t see the way her expression crumbled as her smile became too exhausting to fake anymore. The parking garage wasn’t far, but it was a pain to navigate and she tried in earnest to get him to the car as quickly as possible without the short trip being too much for him.

When it came into sight, she fished her keys out and unlocked the doors, moving to get in. She paused briefly when she noticed his uncertain expression and the slight sheen on his forehead, and she wished she’d just made him stay put in the lobby so she could have brought the car to him instead.

She didn’t have time to linger on it, however. He tugged the door open and slid in, careful not to hit his head, and she got in and started the car, eager to get them home.

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat and Natalie found herself distracted by the possibilities of what would happen once he was home as she put the car in reverse and took the wheel with both hands.

Would he hate it? Would the familiar environment rattle something within him? Would it fail and only serve as a bitter reminder of his lost memories? 

She couldn’t say. She didn’t know what to expect, and while she was usually fond of surprises, this one worried her. 

She shifted in the driver’s seat uncomfortably, her fingers tapping a nervous beat against the wheel. She hated driving, and preferred taking the bus or walking or leaving it to him, which was ironic considering the first time they’d met he had pulled her over for speeding.

Her accident about a year after they’d been dating had really put things in perspective for her, however, and even though she had walked away from it physically sound, she had been shaken.

The drive home lasted for what felt like forever, but when she finally pulled into the driveway she kept her eyes firmly in front of her until she’d parked. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, before she released it and chanced a look at him.

He was staring up at their house with the same familiarity he had greeted her with — or rather, lack thereof. 

“This is it,” she said, trying for enthusiastic but not wanting to come off overbearingly so, and wiped her hands on her jeans. She tried not to linger too long on his unimpressed expression. 

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember them picking this out together because it was in their budget even though it had almost nothing they’d wanted. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember many of their days off spent together making this house their home. It wasn’t his fault that the walls he’d so looked forward to coming into at the end of a long day were now unrecognizable to him. _It wasn’t his fault_ and she had to keep reminding herself of that.

He made the first move to get out of the car, finally tearing his eyes away, and she scrambled out after him. She wanted to get his bag for him, but he grabbed it before she could get to it and turned away without a second glance.

She bit her tongue and followed him up the short distance to their front door, fumbling with the keys while he stood off to the side, annoyed and impatient. Once she got it open, a feat with her sweaty, nervous fingers, she gestured for him to go in first. He gave her a look but obliged and she followed after him, shutting the door softly behind them.

He stood just inside, looking around at the odd decoration and the abundance of potted plants, not sure what to make of it all. Natalie decided to give him a moment, not wanting to rush him. 

She noticed his gaze fall to a small table that she’d decorated with photos of them and their friends. She couldn’t help the rush of hope she felt, especially the longer he stared at them — pictures of them when they were dating, one a friend had snapped when they had told everyone they were engaged, one of their wedding. Surely, _surely_ they had to trigger _something_? 

She didn’t dare breathe, digging her nails into her palms as her chest swelled when he reached for them…

…and she felt herself deflate, the air rushing out of her like a balloon and taking the hope she’d let consume her for that brief moment with it when he grabbed their wedding picture and turned it down, until it rested facedown on the table where he wouldn’t have to look at it.

Natalie’s heart twisted painfully, and her smile became more difficult to uphold. She stepped in front of him, quickly so he wouldn’t see her expression crumble. It was all she could do to keep her voice even.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” she offered, walking deeper into their home.

“Can you just show me where I’m staying?” he said gruffly. “I don’t really feel like getting the whole grand tour right now.” 

She froze midstep. She swallowed hard, but nodded, and turned for the bedrooms.

“Yeah, of course. It’s… it’s this way.”

The heavy thud of his footsteps behind her matched the painful beat of her heart in her chest as she guided him to the end of the short hallway. 

She opened the door at the end to the master bedroom and moved to the side so he could step in.

“This is our—” she didn’t miss the wrinkle of his nose at her choice of words, and she looked away, “—bedroom. I… You can stay, or, you can have it. I mean, it’s already yours, but I can — I’ll stay in the guest room.”

She felt him staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes this time.

“The, uh, the bathroom is just through that door,” she said, gesturing lamely. And I’ll be staying in, um… in the guest bedroom. If you need anything.” She tilted her head back down the hall. “It’s the second on the left.”

He nodded in her peripheral, and she turned to leave, fingers curling around the knob.

“I’ll let you get settled in, then.” 

The door clicked softly on her way out, and she crossed the short distance to her new bedroom. With one last look towards their room, she slipped inside and leaned heavily against the door. Her knees buckled and she allowed herself to slide down, until she hit the ground.

Her breath shuddered and she pulled her legs up, until she could rest her face in her knees. Exhausted, she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed past the pounding in her head, refusing the urge to cry.

They would get past this. They had always gotten past everything, together. This obstacle was inarguably their biggest one yet, but they would figure it out. She had to believe they would. She couldn’t give up so easily. 

Their wedding picture, turned down, flashed in her mind and a tear slipped unbidden down her cheek. That had been the first thing she’d decorated with. That had been a constant since they had moved in. She had put it by the door in case of an argument where one of them would leave angry — when they came back in, that picture served to remind them to leave their anger and work to fix things instead. 

She sucked in a breath and raised her head, swiping angrily at her face and glaring at the moisture that came away on her fingers. 

Things were different now. _He_ was different now. Years of the experiences that had changed and shaped him were gone, but the man she had fallen in love with was still in there. She just had to remind him of the woman _he_ had fallen in love with.

She couldn’t rush him, though. She knew that much. She couldn’t imagine how strange this all must have been for him, and she wanted to make the transition as easy as possible.

It would take time, but they had all the time in the world. 

But first, baby steps.

*

“What are you doing?” 

Natalie jumped, turning away from the stove to face him and laying a hand over her heart. She opened her mouth, ready to crack a joke about how he still managed to sneak up on her after all these years, but she caught herself and thought better of it.

“Making breakfast,” she answered instead. They’d had takeout for lunch and dinner, she thought it would be nice for him to have something homemade instead. “Chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite!” 

She could tell by the look on his face that he was skeptical about them being his ‘favorite’, but they promised chocolate and if there was one thing that would never change about her husband it was his unwavering love of chocolate. 

She turned back to the stove, a smile tugging at her lips. At least she could get _something_ right. 

She slid the last one onto a plate and dropped a small square of butter on top of the stack, then carried it and the syrup over to him. 

He looked down at the plate, less than impressed by the ugly pancakes with jagged edges and the burnt splotches. 

“Bon appetit!” she said cheerfully, and Lucifer looked up at her, then back down to the pathetic pile of vaguely circular and questionably edible pancakes before him. 

“…Thanks,” he muttered, and grabbed the syrup, deciding that if he drowned them in it then they couldn’t possibly be as bad as they looked. 

He cut into the stack and lifted the bite to his mouth. He choked around the taste, and for a moment, he tried to get it down, he really did. He gave up on that effort, though, instead grabbing a napkin and spitting it out, wiping his mouth. 

“That bad, huh?” Natalie asked, and he looked up at her. She didn’t look surprised or upset, just disappointed and a little sheepish. “Sorry. I’m not a great cook. It’s funny, you used to—” she stopped herself by taking his plate once she realized what she had done. 

It was too late, though, and he stood up with an unreadable expression. Natalie frowned, and moved to apologize, but he cut her off. 

“Don’t forget to turn the stove off,” he said, and disappeared back down the hallway towards their — his — room. She stood staring after him, and set his plate back on the table. 

“Way to go,” she murmured to herself, leaning against a chair, her knuckles going white around the back of it. Every time she thought she was making progress she slipped up and ruined it. 

Chewing on her lip, she spun around and flicked the stove off, hating the reminder he’d given her that he’d given her so often before, each time more teasing than the last. 

_Turn the stove off, Natalie. _

_I have nightmares about you leaving that thing on._

_The guys over at the fire station will never let me live it down if they find out my wife set a fire._

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, laughing to herself. He had hated her cooking and he always told her he refused to eat anything she made, though she knew he would do anything if she asked, he just had to put up the right show of resistance first. He had always gone out to check that the stove was off before coming to bed with her, and she had always rolled her eyes and teased him about it.

_I didn’t even use the stove today, Lucifer._

_You attract so much bad luck it wouldn’t surprise me if it turned on just because you looked at it._

_You’re such a jerk._

She grabbed his plate again and dumped the contents in the trash, along with the extras she’d made for herself. She wasn’t hungry anymore. She rinsed the dishes off and dropped them in the dishwasher and then cleaned up the mess she’d made. 

It didn’t take long, even as she tried to devote more time and attention to it than necessary just to keep her hands busy, to do _something_ because she felt so _useless_. She had taken the week off for work, to help him get settled again, but she wasn’t so sure if she’d need the whole week if he didn’t even want to talk to her. She dried her hands and cast the towel onto the counter, sighing.

She turned to look around the small space for something to do, and her eyes fell on the photo of them pinned to the fridge. She walked over, slipping her fingers beneath it to get a better look, thumbing the edges tenderly. She’d surprised him that day at work. She’d snuck up on him, kissed his cheek, and snapped a picture to catch his reaction. 

Her teeth worried her lip for a moment while she hesitated, and then she yanked it off. She went in search of a box, and once she found one a decent enough size, she dropped the photo in there. Then, she made her way to the living room, where she swiped all the photos of them into it. She made her way through every room except their bedroom, taking all evidence of their memories together down to shut them away.

She would show him later, she would revisit them with him, she promised herself. But she would take them down for now. She wouldn’t make him look at them every day.

She wouldn’t make him regret coming home.

The box and all their pictures found a new home beneath her bed. All except their wedding picture. She set that one up carefully on the nightstand, so at least she could look at it. She dusted her hands off, but once she stepped out of the room she immediately felt like she wasn’t even in her own home anymore. 

It felt empty, impersonal, cold without their lives playing out over the walls. She looked over her shoulder, at his shut door, then at the clock. It was almost time for him to take his medicine, and she knew he needed to eat in order to do that.

Maybe she could make up for breakfast.

She started for the bedroom, going to tell him she was leaving, but her fingers hovered over the knob. She blinked at it, then looked up when she heard his voice coming from inside.

“—tried to kill me with those fucking pancakes, I swear,” she heard, and she covered her mouth with her hand, torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to cry. “It’s not funny, Ipos, I—”

His voice faded and she decided that was enough eavesdropping, backing away from the door. She’d leave a note instead for him to find, if he even noticed she was gone. She’d be back in less than ten minutes anyways, if traffic wasn’t horrible. 

She found an old bill and scribbled “Be right back” on the back of the envelope, leaving it on the table just inside the door. She snatched the keys up and slipped outside.

Traffic wasn’t bad, just as she’d hoped, and she was at the small bakery in no time. The bell jingled welcomingly when she walked through the door, immediately consumed in the warmth and pleasant smells.

Rosenfeld Bakery. It was his favorite place. The interior was a play on the name, decorated with roses Natalie’s shop supplied now and small, old frames of rose fields. They’d found it years ago and nothing else they tried ever compared to the little shop, tucked into a corner. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Devante!” the owner, Anthea, greeted from behind the counter. 

“Good morning,” she smiled, relieved at the friendly face, and walked over.

“The usual? Where’s Lucifer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she said, and dropped her eyes to the display. “He’s, ahh… He’s at home. Could you add one of those eclairs, too?” 

“An eclair? You making up for something?” Anthea teased. It was rare she saw one without the other. Natalie laughed, but it sounded breathless, forced.

“Something like that.” 

Anthea frowned, setting the bag on the counter between them. Natalie fished out a bill and pushed it across, pulling the bag more towards her instead.

“Is everything alright?”

It took Natalie a long moment to answer as Anthea rung her up, waiting for her answer with a concerned crease in her brows. Was everything alright? Not really.

But…

“It will be,” she finally said, raising her eyes to meet Anthea’s. She smiled at her and gathered up the bag of Lucifer’s favorite breakfast, turning to leave. “Keep the change!” she called over her shoulder, and walked out before Anthea could even get a word in.

Her return home was even quicker. She was excited, because her cooking was a longshot, she’d known that from the beginning, but she was sure _this_ was something he could appreciate. 

She hurried inside, the warm bag tucked against her side, and travelled back into the kitchen. She pulled down another plate and arranged the chocolate-cinnamon rolls he ate religiously in one half, and put the double chocolate eclair on the other half. Smiling to herself, she made her way back towards their — his — room.

She knocked lightly on the door, and waited for a few excruciating moments.

“Lucifer?” she finally asked, and there was another beat of silence before she heard shuffling and finally the door opened up.

His eyes dropped down to the plate almost immediately, and then back up to her. She saw the skeptical arch of his brow, even as his eyes kept dropping back to the plate. It looked a lot better than what she’d presented to him earlier, she knew.

“A peace offering,” she offered as an explanation. “I know this is hard for you and I’m probably not making it any easier, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong here. I didn’t make it,” she added quickly when she saw his lip twitch as he undoubtedly remembered the disaster pancakes.

He stared at her for a minute longer, before taking the plate.

“Where did you get it?”

“Rosenfeld’s. It’s a bakery on the corner of 5th.” He was halfway to lifting one of the rolls to his mouth when he paused.

“Never heard of it.”

“We uh… we found it a few years ago,” she said slowly, cautiously, not wanting to upset him. She watched his expression carefully as she added, “It’s a bit of a hole in a wall, but it’s really good.” 

Something in his eyes darkened, and he nodded and set the roll back down. 

“Thanks,” he said, but there was an undefinable edge to his voice and he was unable to meet her eyes now. She felt a piece of her break away, screaming, wondering what she _could_ say if everything about his likes or interests when she knew him was apparently off the table. She was trying to help.

Didn’t he _want_ to remember? 

“…Yeah, of-of course. You, um, you have to take your medicine at 11:30.”

“I know.”

“I just thought I’d remind you, just in case.” She shifted uncomfortably, not sure whether she should try to catch his eyes or avoid them altogether. “I know you need something to eat with it, but if you… if you don’t want that there’s cereal and stuff in the kitchen. You’re more the welcome to help yourself.”

“I don’t need you to fucking babysit me, Natalie,” he said, and even he seemed surprised at how harsh his voice had been, but he didn’t make a move to apologize. Despite herself, it was the first time she’d heard him say her name since he’d woken up, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m a grown man, I know how to take care of myself.” 

The words felt like a slap in the face. She felt her stomach drop. Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists in an attempt to keep him from seeing her shaking hands. Her heart beat a thunderous beat against her ribcage and the blood rushing through her ears was deafening. 

She looked up at him, and he was looking at her now. There was harsh dip between his brows, his light brown eyes angry, tensed against the doorframe. Her eyes fell on the bandage covering his stitches and her breath shuddered.

“Yeah,” she said, calmer than she felt. She met his eyes again, now that she’d made her point with her gaze. “Sure looks like it.” 

She turned on her heel and marched back to her room. She shut the door with a little more force than necessary, and went to go sit on the bed. She let her fingers uncurl, and pressed them against her thighs in an attempt to quell how violently they shook. 

She stared at the floor for what felt like an eternity, trying to even out her breathing again, trying to get the resonance in her ears to go away, trying to see something other than the angry curl of his lip and the annoyed set of his jaw.

Finally, she raised her head. She was never one to let the day pass without living it to its fullest, but there was nothing more she wanted than to crawl into bed and sleep it away right then. She hesitated, because what if he _needed_ her, but—

He didn’t need her. He’d made that perfectly clear.

She caught the shimmering frame of their wedding picture on the nightstand. She stared at it, her chest tight with the memory and all the implications it held, all the vows it upheld and all the arguments it had resolved.

She reached over, and with every part of her crying out in protest, she pushed it face down.

Then she kicked her shoes off and crawled under the sheets, pulling the covers above her head and trying to ignore how sharply she felt her heart break. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is a project that's been three years in the making! i started writing it back in 2016, and wrote the next part between 2017 and 2018. the last part is yet to be written, and i haven't edited either the first or second parts, so this is not only a test of how far i can go, but also an exploration of how my writing has changed over the years. i hope you all enjoy it ^^


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